


A Scent of Wax

by Upstarsfromreality



Series: Bringing it all back home [1]
Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 01:10:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17172992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Upstarsfromreality/pseuds/Upstarsfromreality
Summary: NairobiWonders wrote a gorgeous Watson's Woes story where Mary prays to St. Michael for Joan's safety. It's Chapter Nine of the link above. I decided to bring St. Michael back for a prequel to my post-finale story Transition Plans,  https://archiveofourown.org/works/16467116/chapters/38565332 but this should make sense without that one.





	A Scent of Wax

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NairobiWonders](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Return of Other Tales of Watson's Woes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11536593) by [NairobiWonders](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders). 



> NairobiWonders wrote a gorgeous Watson's Woes story where Mary prays to St. Michael for Joan's safety. It's Chapter Nine of the link above. I decided to bring St. Michael back for a prequel to my post-finale story Transition Plans, https://archiveofourown.org/works/16467116/chapters/38565332 but this should make sense without that one.

St. Michael sniffed the air for candles. A good current was rushing it to him today. The scent was mostly paraffin, of course, but here and there he detected real beeswax. He caught a faint but unusually rich aroma and stopped to figure it out. He knew that scent anywhere. Holmes might not pray himself, but the instant he heard that Mary prayed to Michael for Joan the old way he insisted on providing the candles. Unlike most beekeepers, Holmes concentrated on the quality of his bees’ wax rather than honey production or fruit pollination. The result was amazing, a complex smell that rivalled the best wines or whiskeys, and with a similar effect on their intended recipients when overused. Michael cut off his thought. The man was an addict. It was just as well he not know his candles could get an archangel drunk.

What Michael didn't know was why the scent was so faint today, without a hint of smoke. That usually only happened with paraffin tealights, when kids too young for matches put them next to a lightbulb to pray for their mom or dad. “Oh, crap” thought Michael. He did know. Mary's Alzheimer's must be worse. She wasn't trusted with with matches anymore, for fear she'd leave the candle burning. Michael listened just a little closer to her prayer, in case it was confused or he had to sort out the timeline.

“Dear St. Michael,” Mary began, “please watch over my sweet Joanie and her Sherlock. Keep them safe today. And, Michael, as soon as you can, please bring Joanie and my granddaughter back to me.” 

“Well,” thought Michael sourly, “that wasn't the least bit confusing. Just nearly impossible.” Keeping Joan safe would be doable. She and Sherlock didn't even have a case today, having worked two solid weeks on the last one. Michael could even give their guardians Fred and Roger a half-day off if he wanted to. Bringing Joan and her baby home, though, that was going to be rough. She wouldn't go back to New York unless Holmes went too. Holmes couldn't go back unless the FBI figured out who really did the murders, and Holmes wasn't going to tell them. Michael sighed. Human bureaucracy could be just as hard to work with as heavenly bureaucracy. He called Percy, Marcus Bell's guardian, into his office.

“Percy,” Michael ordered, “ get on top of your guy’s shoulder. There's something I want him to do.”

“What do you need him to do?” asked Percy.

“Just solve a murder,” said Michael, as innocently as possible. “He is a homicide detective.”

“Oh, come on, boss, the Rowan case! Why can't Fred and Roger do it? It's their protectees’ problem anyway,” whined Percy.

Even at his most whiny, Percy knew better than to call the Rowan case “the Michael case,” even though that was how Joan and Sherlock mostly referred to it. St. Michael did not appreciate having a namesake like that.

“Fred and Roger just got off a very rough week with Holmes and Watson. They deserve a rest,” said Michael.

“You know they're not resting, they're out there looking for a pinhead someplace. Roger probably already borrowed Joan's heels while she's sleeping,” Percy protested. It was the wrong move.

“They can dance the night away if they want to, Percy. What I want you to do is get down to New York, attend your guy's graduation with him, and fly your damn beat.”

“My job is to keep my guy out of trouble, not get him into it. Why should I drag him into an Internal Affairs investigation?” Percy was not giving up.

“How much trouble do you think your guy would be in if this came out after he was in the Marshals? Do you think it would look good for him if his NYPD mentor got taken down for covering up a murder, with no way for Marcus to prove he didn't know?”

“But that could be years from now.” argued Percy.

“Percy, you forget that I flew a beat as a guardian for six centuries before I got promoted to arch. If I learned anything in that time, it's that you've gotta look down the road for your guys, in case they don't. You're right it might be years. That just gives you a chance to get him in front of this. Get down there now.”

Defeated, Percy left the office and headed for New York. Michael sniffed the air again, pleased that Mary had remembered to turn off the light bulb by her candle. Marcus was a smart guy. He would get Joan home.


End file.
